


Finding Your Voice

by dreyars



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: College, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-03 22:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14005758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreyars/pseuds/dreyars
Summary: The weight of silence was never something that bothered Fukunaga. He was always the quiet guy, the one who dropped funny one-liners, and shared himself only with those who really mattered.After missing his first chance in high school, Fukunaga decided that Ennoshita is the one he wants to share himself with the most.





	Finding Your Voice

The weight of silence is relative.

Some people, and Fukunaga could name off quite a few, couldn’t bear to be in silence. Silence was a weight, a pressure, that bothered them so much that they had to fight back, fill the air with music, sound, voices.

Silence, or the idea of it, was never something that bothered him, because to him, it never really existed.

Fukunaga had always been that quiet kid. That weirdo that was more likely to be caught daydreaming, staring out the window, or writing jokes along the margins of his school work than actually interacting with people.

They thought he wasn’t paying attention. Thought he wasn’t absorbing every little word they said. But like a stray cat that watches you from atop a wall, before ducking out of sight when you got too close, he saw everything. Heard everything.

In Fukunaga’s opinion, words were heavier than the absence there of, but he tried not to let it bother him.

He _could_ talk. He knew how. He took in every vocabulary word presented by his teachers, clung to the conversations between his parents at the dinner table as he tried to decipher what the more intricate and delicate words meant.

His parents never thought it was a problem, not until his teachers saw it that way.  As a child, he was able to get everything he needed from his parents with minimal words. It never bothered them that he was quiet, not when their friends had little demons, screaming their heads off at the slightest inconvenience.

It was never a problem, not until people who didn’t understand decided it was.

His silence, which worked so well for him for years, became a _“struggle”_ that he had to overcome.

Fukunaga never understood that choice of words. Not when he never had a problem communicating to the people who mattered.

_Maybe he’s just shy. He’ll grow out of it._

But that wasn’t it either, Fukunaga thought. He wasn’t shy. His best friend from first grade was shy, and  him not pressuring her to talk to him like all the other kids did made it so they _could_ become friends in the first place.

_He’s having difficulty making friends. We’re worried about how he will handle transitioning to middle school._

Fukunaga always rolled his eyes at that one. Or at least mentally rolled his eyes, as his mom always told him that expressions like that were rude, and rude was the last thing he wanted to be, even if his teacher didn’t know what they were talking about.

He had friends. To his knowledge, no one in his class disliked him. He was close to the boy who sat beside him at their shared table. Fukunaga would pass him a joke when the teacher wasn’t looking, and he would repeat it for the whole class to hear. The other boys would ask him about it later, and tell him he was funny enough to be in the school talent show. But Fukunaga just smiled and accepted the praise, making a mental note to share his next gem with the boy who gave him the best compliment.

In third grade, at the school’s insistence, his parents allowed him to meet with a speech therapist because suddenly, what had been working so well for him was suddenly _wrong_. His teacher threw around words he didn’t understand like selective mutism or speech apraxia to scare his parents. 

The therapist determined it was all a load of bunk after one meeting, and signed her name in a bold black pen to tell the school to leave his family alone, to let Fukunaga be who he was. If he was still learning, still passing his tests, then there was no problem.

Fukunaga simply communicated in his own way, and at his own speed, when he determined it was necessary to break out his soft, scraggly little voice.

And each year, he talked a little bit more to his friends. His classmates. He went from a line a month to a line a week. He couldn’t tell you if it was society asking him to talk more, his volleyball coach scolding him to call out his position so he doesn’t get ran over by one his teammates, or just Tora, pestering him until he snapped at him to leave him alone. But he talked more.

Bit by bit.

Day by day.

By the last day of high school, he was truly good friends with his teammates, in a way that his third grade teacher wanted him to be, and he could hold conversations with Kenma over video games, while one-sided bickering was still the M.O. to interacting with Tora. Kenma was honestly his favorite by the end of their three years together, because like Fukunaga, he thrived in silence, or at least, thrived in the absence of conversation. Tora was just so easy to rile up, and he honestly would’ve talked more around him if he just stopped asking. But the humor Fukunaga found in Tora getting worked up after finding that he had chatted with a first year all throughout lunch, but never did that around him, was just too much to pass up.

Fukunaga was pleased with himself when Coach Nekomata praised him after his farewell speech to the underclassmen, which could’ve been five words _(thanks for everything! Good luck!),_ but actually lasted a whole two minutes, because he had to outdo Kenma, but couldn’t figure out how to upstage Tora’s impassioned 10-minute ordeal.

_Congratulations, you’ve finally found your voice. Do great things with it._

Fukunaga took those words of advice with him to college.

Well, to the best of his abilities he took those words to heart. He clammed up a bit on his first few days, and was glad his mother was there with him to help him register for classes, figure out where everything on campus was, and just generally ask the right questions that Fukunaga blanked on.  That was more of an anxiety towards starting something new, rather than not being able to speak, though.

Once he became confident in what he needed to do, where he needed to be, he was back to his old self. The self that Coach Nekomata was proud of, that could talk to a friend or a stranger in the same kind of way.

He promised to himself that he’d never lose his voice again, even when he started on a new path in life and his nerves started to get the best of him.

Fukunaga didn’t think that was an incredibly hard promise. With the way things are going, he’d be able to give that 10-minute-long presentation at the end of the semester with no halts or hiccups or hesitation.

But, that promise was made before Fukunaga realized that the one thing that had slowed down his progress in high school had followed him to college.

He was in the library, not to check anything out, just to study for the midterms that were just around the corner. Fukunaga quite liked the library. It carried with it the kind of silence that just wrapped him up, calmed him down, and helped him focus. Not to mention, there was the certain social faux pas of sitting with someone you didn’t know, so Fukunaga could settle in, spread out, and study at a four-person table without anyone really bothering him.

Fukunaga’s favorite spot was one on the resource floor of the library. It was the floor with no computer lab, no students rifling through books, just shelves and shelves of equipment typically only checked out by graduate students (his particular corner was full of test kits and therapy tools used by the childhood psychology students), or students who really needed a camera for their class project but couldn’t use the one on their phone for whatever reason.

It was quiet, kind of dusty, with a table that was pressed flush against a floor to ceiling window. It really was in a back corner, away from the stairs and bathrooms, and the chairs were the only ones in the entire library that didn’t make his back and butt hurt in thirty minutes flat. It was a safe haven. A quiet little place he could actually work in, rather than getting distracted by everything he had in his bedroom.

And someone was already sitting in his spot.

Fukunaga knew he shouldn’t be surprised. It was time for midterms. Every table he had passed on this floor had at least two students at it, bickering over some project, or nose to page, dancing dangerously with a highlighter proceeding their gaze.

He shouldn’t be surprised, but he couldn’t help but be a bit irritated. Home was closer to his last class than this library was, and if he had known that he was going to get spot-jacked, he may have just gone home instead.

Fukunaga stood at the end of the row of bookshelves, trying to determine if the oddly familiar stranger was anywhere close to being done.

Not likely, from the way he was furiously typing away on his laptop, stopping every few words to tug at his hair in a way that made Fukunaga lose his breath.

Recognition flooded Fukunaga’s mind, and suddenly he is back in high school, meeting this person for the first time.

Fukunaga hadn’t know that Ennoshita had come to the same school as him. Not like they’d ever been that close of friends, or even more than acquaintances who regularly saw each other, but still, he figured he would’ve heard about it. From someone.

They knew each other well enough however, that Fukunaga could probably ask to sit with him, given the crowded state of the library.

Ennoshita lifted his head, as if he felt someone watching him, and Fukunaga turned on his heel and left.

His throat was tight, in a way that Fukunaga knew meant that he wouldn’t be able to talk to him, even if he wanted to.

And god did he want to.

Fukunaga settled into a table one floor up, trying to ignore the irritated tuts of other stressed students when he dropped his bag a bit heavily on the table. Pulling out his intro to biology textbook, Fukunaga shrank in his seat, internally slapping himself for being such a dumbass.

He couldn’t really blame himself for breaking his promise though.

Ennoshita was that out of his league, never gonna happen, useless, worthless, pointless remnant of a crush from high school. One that Fukunaga never pursued, because, what would’ve been the point? Ennoshita didn’t even really know him, and Fukunaga knew he was too good for him anyway. They lived too far from each other, and from how Ennoshita talked about his goals for the future during training camps, Fukunaga was sure that their paths would never align.

Fukunaga had convinced himself that there was no point, so he never tried. He had let go of the thought, when the spring volleyball tournament ended last year, and he was sure that they would never even bump into each other on the street again.

But here he was, sitting in Fukunaga’s spot, a little less than half a year since Fukunaga last saw him.

His hair was a bit longer.

Not in a shaggy, unkempt way. Just in a way that Fukunaga knew he probably hadn’t cut his hair since he moved to college.

It was cute, and Fukunaga’s heart was beating so hard that he wouldn’t be surprised if the front of his shirt was moving with every thump.

Fukunaga flipped his textbook open to the page that was marked with a granola bar wrapper from lunch, and tried to focus on the task at hand. It was kind of pointless, considering what they had gone through so far seemed just like a refresher of high school biology, with a dash of upper level language. He poured over pea plants and chromosomes and basic cell structure, but he couldn’t focus.

Each cough from the neighboring table (that boy should really go home and sleep before he gets the whole library sick) made his shoulders tense up. Each ding from the elevator, removing the brave souls who were confident enough in themselves to go home, while spitting out more last-minute studiers, made his skin crawl.

The whispers of anxious students were driving him crazy, and for the first time in a long while, Fukunaga left because he was overwhelmed by the weight of noise.

It brought him back to high school, when he was tired after being around his noisy teammates all day. He would resort to wandering the halls of the school for just a moment of peace, until someone called him back for lights out.

Ennoshita did that too, he remembers.

That first Tokyo training camp was when Fukunaga first learned to appreciate Ennoshita. First, he appreciated that the Karasuno #6 was a 2nd year wing spiker like himself. It wasn’t like the #6 jersey carried any sort of weight with it like the Captain’s #1 did, or even the Ace’s #4, but for a quiet guy like Fukunaga, the 6 was a mark of solidarity. He kind of wished Ennoshita played more than he did, because Fukunaga really wanted to see how he stacked up against him.  

Running into him late one night was even better though.

Fukunaga was sitting on the edge of the sidewalk just outside the gyms, staring up at the stars and listening to the chatter of the players who were really determined to run themselves into the ground that week. He was just far enough away from the door, deep enough into shadow, that Ennoshita didn’t realize he was joining him until he already sat down. Fukunaga shuffled his feet against the gravely ground, and Ennoshita jumped, a bit more startled than Fukunaga expected. He wasn’t _that_ quiet.

Ennoshita ran a hand through his hair, ruffling his bangs in what Fukunaga would come to learn as a sign he was attempting to calm himself down, before giving Fukunaga a sleepy little smile in apology.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there.”

Fukunaga shrugged, a gesture he hoped communicated that it happened all the time, through no fault of anyone.

“Is it alright if I stay for a while? Mind the company?”

Fukunaga shook his head, and patted the small sliver of concrete in between them, an open invitation to remain seated.  Ennoshita sighed his thanks before pulling his knees up, resting his arms and chin atop them as he stared out into the night. Or at least, as far as he could, considering that all around them were concrete school buildings.  Fukunaga appreciated that Ennoshita didn’t try to start a conversation, that he was here to escape as well.

When Fukunaga realized he had developed feelings for the other wing spiker, and their training camp rendezvous became a nightly occurrence, Fukunaga danced with the idea that maybe, Ennoshita liked him too. That he found some sort of comfort in being near him, even if they rarely spoke a word beyond greetings and goodbyes.

Fukunaga could never find the words to ask for his number. Could never indicate that he wanted to get to know him better, to be part of the circle that flocked to him during breaks, hung up on every word that fell from his mouth.  He wanted to be part of that conversation, part of the interaction, but he held back, hovering near his own team, hoping that that night would bring Ennoshita back to him.

Fukunaga never told any of his friends about his little infatuation with the Karasuno player, not even as it grew beyond that during their third year. He kept it to himself, holding onto all the little things he admired about Ennoshita like they were prizes for him and him alone.

He liked Ennoshita’s dark hair, and the way it stuck to his forehead during games. Fukunaga liked how humble he was, and how he always acted like he wasn’t that great, despite having his team’s full respect.  He liked that cocky little smile that spread across Ennoshita’s face during a practice match, when he put aside his doubts and let himself play.

Fukunaga liked his commanding tone that came into full bloom after he became Karasuno’s captain. He liked how he could lead his team with a glance, and the stern, yet kind way he guided the new first years.

Fukunaga liked his arms, and how they seemed to be so much stronger than his own.

He liked his smile, with the tired little tilt, that always made Fukunaga feel like Ennoshita was an old soul as well. Like they would understand each other, if they ever had the chance to connect.

But, Ennoshita had his own concerns, and Fukunaga could respect that.  Though their after-practice meetings continued, Fukunaga never felt right interrupting them with words, when in his heart, he knew that was what they were both escaping from.

The constant, never ending gibber jabber of excited teenage boys, doing what they loved, all day long.

It was enough, just to sit beside him, twisting the toe of his shoe into the dirt, letting the gentle air of a quiet night drift over them before they returned once more to the ceaseless noise.

It was enough then, but, its been almost a year since their last high school training camp. The last one was held a month or so before the spring high was set to begin.  So long ago, and yet, Fukunaga was clinging to the memory as he stepped into the elevator, heading down to the first floor.

It was a lonely ride. He was one of the few who was leaving at such an early hour. Fukunaga was swarmed by a hoard of students when he got to the first floor, barely having time to step off before the doors shut again, whisking the group higher up in the building.

Fukunaga sighed as he stepped out into the evening. The sun was barely starting to set, and from the clock on his phone, he was able to tell that it was barely past 7pm. He’d only been at the library for about an hour and a half, and he still needed to study for his exam the next morning, and yet, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to go home. With a hand over his stomach, he decided he wasn’t hungry enough to warrant that detour, but, what if he _did_ get hungry on his way home, and he had to double back to find something worth eating.

In the haze of his indecisiveness, Fukunaga almost didn’t notice the person that exited the library a few moments after he did. Fukunaga was almost surprised to see him, considering how dedicated and serious he looked just a couple hours earlier. His hair was still ruffled, as if he didn’t realize his own state of dishevelment. Fukunaga wanted to laugh, as he stood on the steps just a few paces away from him, like he didn’t know that someone else was there.

Fukunaga could feel his throat tightening, the nerves of being this close to Ennoshita again getting the best of him, but he knew that if he didn’t speak up now, he’d regret missing his chance again.

“Hey…” Fukunaga mentally pat himself on the back for that one. He was sure that was going to come out as a stutter, or worse yet, as an incomprehensible sound.

Ennoshita lifted his head from his phone, a look of tired confusion quickly replaced by recognition. A tired smile, the one that Fukunaga remembered, spread across his face in greeting.

“Hey! I thought I saw you earlier, but man, you still move so fast that I couldn’t be sure. How are you?”

A happy little warmth spread across Fukunaga’s chest, and he smiled back.  Fukunaga was somewhat taken aback by the fact that Ennoshita remembered who he was, because he felt as if he never really left that much of an impression. But, little things like that were why Fukunaga liked him so much in the first place.

“Good. You?” Fukunaga hoped he wasn’t sounding too curt, but he was doing all he could to keep himself from imploding on the spot as Ennoshita’s dark eyes scanned his face.

“You still don’t talk much, do you?” Ennoshita laughed as Fukunaga shrugged, a little gesture meant to dismiss the subject.  “That’s alright. Kind of refreshing, actually. Did you get run out by all the people ignoring the huge ‘quiet’ signs, too?”

Fukunaga nodded solemnly, an eyeroll thrown in for extra effect.

“It sucks, I really need to keep working on this paper, but I know if I go home, I’ll just fall asleep at my desk. I was actually looking to see what classroom buildings were still open, because some of them have tables and study areas that may be a bit quieter. I wouldn’t mind some company…if you weren’t already on your way home….”

“Sure.”

Ennoshita’s eyes brightened, despite the setting sun, and Fukunaga felt himself go lightheaded from the sheer joy of being near him.  Ennoshita indicated that he thought the fine arts building was still open at this time, and Fukunaga followed him, hands wrapped up in the straps of his backpack as he listened to Ennoshita chat away. He was more…cheerful…than Fukunaga remembered him being in high school, and maybe that was due to him having fewer responsibilities. Fewer things to worry about, other than himself and his school work. He didn’t seem to mind one bit that Fukunaga wasn’t really reciprocating in this conversation, other than a few perfectly placed encouragers to let him know he _was_ listening.

Because he was.

He was hanging on to every word.

It was Ennoshita’s voice that was pulling him down the sidewalk, taking him on the ten-minute trek from the library to the fine arts building. He let out the frustration of being disrupted when he was so close to being finished, by an inconsiderate pair of project mates who decided the middle of the library was a perfect place to get into a verbal spat. He listened to him talk about his major, and how after this first semester, he hoped it was still the right one for him, and how he’d been so focused on getting good grades this semester, that he hadn’t found time for making friends yet.

His roommate was a dick, and he was glad Fukunaga was here.

Fukunaga was glad their backs were turned towards the setting sun, as the glare from the light surely covered up the gleeful blush that now painted his cheeks.

Fukunaga had to agree with him in that regard. He was glad that he was here too, so that he could have the opportunity to connect with Ennoshita again. As they opened the door to the fine arts building and made their way upstairs to the study area Ennoshita recalled was there, Fukunaga remembered how he hadn’t even been sure about going to college in the first place.

It’s not like he just didn’t want to go. He did, but he hadn’t really decided on any one thing he wanted to do with his future. He wasn’t like Ennoshita, he didn’t know what he wanted to do. He almost wanted to take a break, work for a semester, rather than focusing on school, but his parents had convinced him to at least give it a try. He was still staying at home with them, as the college he chose was not that far from where he lived in Tokyo, so he couldn’t sympathize with roommate troubles, but he could sympathize with having no time for friends, other than those who were still close enough to visit.

They settled down on a couch at the top of the stairs, with no other students in sight. The only sound was that of a large clock ticking away, and the sad sound of a violin, punctuated by indistinguishable curses of a student who kept missing a note.  Fukunaga sighed as he pulled his feet underneath him, sitting cross-legged with his biology book on his lap, while Ennoshita sat on the edge of his seat, his books and laptop propped carefully on a low table in front of him. His lips were pressed together in a grimace, frown lines forming on his forehead as he waited for his laptop to boot back up. His entire demeanor relaxed as his laptop began to show signs of life, and he sunk back into the couch, straightening his messy setup before getting back to work.

They didn’t talk much after that, which was fine, as they were both focused on the task at hand. Well, at least Ennoshita was, as the tip tapping of his fingers on the keyboard added a comfortable sound to the quiet room. Fukunaga flipped back and forth between his book and a study guide, yet he struggled to get comfortable, and struggled to remain focused.

This was more distracting for him than being in the library.

He could feel Ennoshita beside him, every single time he shifted in his seat.  He was distracted each time Ennoshita ran his fingers through his hair, pushing his bangs away from his eyes. He was downright entranced by the little sighs of satisfaction that fell from Ennoshita’s lips every time he decided he was content with his work, and the tuts of irritation when the sentences didn’t form just the right way.

Fukunaga’s own work was easy by comparison, even if he was reviewing half a semester’s worth of content, and yet, he was barely finishing up by the time Ennoshita shut the lid of his computer.

“That’s enough for now. I’ll edit it in the morning before I hand it in. I can’t stand to look at that screen for one more second.”

Fukuanga snapped his textbook shut in agreement.  He felt a weight in his chest as he slipped the book into his bag, knowing that their time together that night was coming to a close.

“Thanks for joining me. I probably would’ve passed out here too, if I didn’t have the thought of you prodding me awake if I started to snore.”

Fukunaga rolled his eyes, jabbing a finger into his companion’s side as they rose from the couch. He never would’ve woken Ennoshita up if he was really that tired. Fukunaga probably would’ve been overcome by the cuteness of it all, and been unable to do anything more than just stare.

“Get some sleep.”

“I will, I will. No worries! I’m not normally this ragged.” Ennoshita stepped towards the stairs, before stopping and setting down his bags again. Fukunaga cocked his head to the side, curiously observing the way Ennoshita pulled his lip between his teeth as he patted down his pockets, looking for his phone.

With a sigh of relief, Ennoshita pulled his phone from his back pocket. “You know, since I’m still new in town…it’d be nice to have someone around that I already know.” Ennoshita held out his phone, unlocked, with a new address book entry open on the screen. “I mean, if it wouldn’t be a bother for you or anything…”

Fukunaga snatched the device out of Ennoshita’s hands, his cheeks flushing at his laughter at Fukunaga’s exuberance. Fukunaga typed his number in, before handing the phone back. He committed the feeling of their fingers brushing together during the brief exchange to memory, and waited until he felt the faint buzz of his own phone in his pocket, signaling that Ennoshita had sent over his own number.

“Well, thanks for studying with me tonight, Fukunaga-san. It’s really great getting to see you again-“

“Study tomorrow?”

Ennoshita’s eyes widened as he considered the question, and Fukunaga’s narrowed in kind, as he considered how those words just popped out of his mouth, when he had been so nervous about speaking up all evening.

“I’d like that,” Ennoshita said with a smile. The sleepy, content look that Fukunaga enjoyed so much returned to his face, and Ennoshita picked up his bags, slinging them over his broad shoulders with little effort. “Maybe we can celebrate the end of midterms this weekend too.”

Fukunaga nodded exuberantly, his head bobbing up and down as Ennoshita grasped his shoulder and thanked him again for keeping him company.  They parted at the door of the fine arts building, Ennoshita heading off to his dorm, and Fukunaga to the stop where busses picked up off campus students.

Fukunaga’s mind was a whirlwind as he waited for the bus. He bounced on his toes, working off the nervous energy until a stranger joined him.

What a roller coaster today had been. From the excitement and distress of learning Ennoshita was so close to him, yet seemingly so far away, to being doused in the feelings he had sworn he had pushed out of his mind.

While they may have been shoved to the side for a little while, spending a short evening with him, even one spent with minimal conversation, made Fukunaga realize that those feelings were definitely still there. Despite this, he had a difficult time convincing his subconscious to not beat him down, to hold on to the hope that maybe, just _maybe_ this could be a long awaited last chance.

If only he could muster up the words to express his feelings, should the perfect opportunity present itself.

They studied together every night that week, hunkering down in the fine arts building, which was eerily abandoned each night, save for the students trickling in and out of practice rooms. They didn’t share any actual classes, but they discovered they did share one course (an introduction to college class that all first years were required to take, even if it was complete nonsense). Studying for this course, which they had on the same day, at different times, finally opened their halting conversations in a way that Fukunaga was comfortable with.

“Don’t you think Professor’s beard looks like he could hide snacks in it?”

Ennoshita choked on a laugh as Fukunaga’s random comment distracted him from comparing their notes.

“I saw it move once. During a test. Maybe its just a chinchilla that crawled on his face during his sleep, and he just assumed that’s how beards grow.” Fukunaga tapped his chin with his pencil, as if seriously contemplating his hypothesis. Ennoshita continued to chuckle at his bizarre joke, and Fukunaga ate up every second of it.

“That could be true. He never seemed like a terribly bright guy to me.”

Stroking his own chin, Fukunaga continued. “I’d grow a beard if that meant I could hide snacks in it.”

Ennoshita laughed, his hands moving to cover his face at the thought. “Oh god, please don’t. It would make you look like an old man. You look great just the way you are.”

Fukunaga paused, his next one-liner stuck somewhere between his brain and his mouth due to Ennoshita’s offhanded compliment. When his friend realized what he had said, his face turned a gentle shade of pink, and he waved a hand between them to clear the air of his own embarrassment.

“I mean like, a beard just wouldn’t suit you! Your face is fine, a beard would just mess it up, you know? I don’t…I don’t know what I’m trying to say here.”

Fukunaga nodded his head in solemn understanding, and patted his hand against Ennoshita’s knee. While he enjoyed the attention, he couldn’t let him suffer like this.

“You’d look bad with a beard too.”

Ennoshita laughed and shook his head, returning to their work with a mumbled “You’re ridiculous.” Fukunaga withdrew his hand, before he could realize it had been sitting there for too long without protest, and helped Ennoshita resume their work. He wanted to think about what Ennoshita had said some more, figure out what it really meant, but he couldn’t. Not with the man sitting right here next to him.

They only had one more test. This would be their last night of studying together, possibly for a while, if not forever, and Fukunaga wasn’t sure how to feel about that other than a lingering sense of panic.  What would happen next? What would become of their odd little friendship, and what Fukunaga hoped would become something just a bit more.

They had already agreed to meet up after Ennoshita’s exam the next day, since he had been a bit more realistic with himself and picked an afternoon class instead of a morning.  Ennoshita jokingly remarked that “it’s a date!” when they agreed on a time, but Fukunaga prevented himself from reading too much in to that.

The pair wrapped up shortly after, confident that they could pass this blow off exam with minimal studying. The sun had not even begun to set as they sat there, in their new-found study spot for just a while longer.

There was a weight, hung between them like chord. Unsung, unstrung, quiet, as if one, or both of them had something left to say, but couldn’t bring himself to do so.

It held them there, on this couch that would be marked with the indentions of their bodies when they stood, but neither of them could bring themselves to break the silence. The weight was gone, when another student, carrying a large portfolio, traipsed through, angrily chattering away on their phone as if they were the only person around.

“Well, I guess that’s our cue to head out then.” Ennoshita stood, a hint of reluctance in his voice, and held out a hand to Fukunaga, pulling him to his feet as well. They walked down the curvy staircase side by side, the weight that had been relieved for but a moment, returning to connect them at their shoulders.

They exited the building and hesitated a few feet away from the door, giving room for anyone else that might be entering or exiting. Ennoshita broke the tension first, a skill that Fukunaga never really mastered.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, okay?”

Fukunaga nodded, a trained smile ghosting across his face in confirmation. Ennoshita returned the grin, and leaned in for just a moment, in a gesture too small to be significant, but large enough to be noticed by Fukunaga. They were no where near close enough for it to have meant anything, but Fukunaga still felt his throat get tight, as his heart beat fast, and knew that even if Ennoshita asked him a question, he had already lost his words.

The size of the gesture didn’t stop Fukunaga from questioning it the second Ennoshita pulled back and said goodbye, with a casual wave and a lazy smile.

He thought about it, or rather, overthought it, the entire way home, and through dinner, where his parents questioned how he had been doing, and if he knew any of his grades yet.

He wouldn’t be receiving any of his grades until Monday at the earliest, and Fukunaga put on a brave face as he reports that he thinks he passed them all!

But think is all he could do, and hope and pray that Ennoshita sitting just out of the corner of his eye for the past few days hadn’t been such a distraction that he would actually fail his exams.  He realized, he probably could’ve studied better if Ennoshita hadn’t been there, but he wouldn’t change it for anything at this moment.

It was just like back in high school, but this time, with a bit more conversation, and a bit more purpose.

It was still an escape from the hustle and bustle of their daily lives. The noises. The voices. The demands that came with being a human. It was still a time that Fukunaga could admire Ennoshita in quiet, and hope to all hopes that he wouldn’t be caught staring.

Fukunaga waited for him, on a bench outside of their lecture hall, as soon as he finished his exam. He had finished the test earlier than the end of the class period, but that’s kind of what he expected to do. The professor always finished up early too, which is why he had never run into Ennoshita after class, despite being held in the same room, one right after the other. Ennoshita sat with him briefly, pressed tightly against him on the crowded bench, before going in with his classmates.

After wishing him luck, Fukunaga returned to what he had been doing before Ennoshita joined him by sticking his headphones on, music of choice drowning out the incessant chatter of students walking down the hallway. Fukunaga didn’t often stay behind after classes, as the buildings often grew too crowded. For Ennoshita, he would make an exception. There was no point in going all the way home, and he knew that they’d be getting food together shortly, so really, there was no place to be than right here, staring down a hallway, waiting for his friend to return.

Ennoshita finished first, which was no surprise to Fukunaga. He was brilliant, and even though he looked drained from 25 minutes of test taking, he still had a smile for Fukunaga.

“Finally done.” Ennoshita slung an arm around his shoulder, a congratulatory hug for surviving the week, as they headed to the exit. “Half a semester down, half to go.”

Fukunaga nodded in agreement, patting the hand that gripped his shoulder. It was a bit disappointing when Ennoshita removed his arm, but, it was a bit difficult to walk so close together.

“Now to celebrate! I’ll let you pick the place. Let’s get away from campus for a while.”

Fukunaga acknowledged his request with a double thumbs up. He normally wasn’t a fan of picking places to go, as he would much rather let others choose so no one would be disappointed. But in this situation, when Ennoshita still only had a limited knowledge of the city, he would only be familiar with the college hotspots, which were surely already packed with upperclassmen, drinking their night away in celebration. While Fukunaga was not much of an explorer himself, he had lived in the city for years, and was more comfortable with the quiet little places closer to home. He already had a place in mind before they were ten paces away from the building.

They stopped at Ennoshita’s dorm before departing to ditch their bags and other nonessentials. Fukunaga would likely have to help Ennoshita find his way back, which was not a problem for him at all as it only prolonged their time together. Ennoshita’s dorm room was as he expected, and it suited him. Neat, until the barrier of his space collided with his roommate’s, a movie poster Fukunaga only vaguely recognized above the bed, and a vague sense of calm, as if Ennoshita strived to make this place as homey and comfortable as possible, despite the train wreck of a space that his roommate had cultivated. They were only there for a second, as Ennoshita stuffed their bags in his closet, but it was as if it were a glimpse of the Ennoshita he still didn’t know fully. The private side of him, that he held back on in public.

The bus they took to leave campus was nearly empty, as most people had not yet finished their last exam, and it was still much too early for people to getting off of work. Ennoshita still sat close enough to him that their knees touched. Close enough that Fukunaga could smell the faint hints of his cologne as he shared some new movie trailer on his phone.

They got off the bus at the second stop past his house, Fukunaga pointing it out, along with other random establishments that Ennoshita might enjoy along the way. A bookshop, that wasn’t packed floor to ceiling with overpriced textbooks, but rather, old versions of books with wafer thin pages that crinkled when you just looked at him.  A coffee shop, that overcharged, but let you have your medium in a large cup so that you could pour as much cream in your drink as your wanted. A movie store, that was going out of business, but probably had something for Ennoshita among the sale racks. Ennoshita marveled at the life beyond the one-mile radius of their college campus, that he knew was there, but had never taken upon himself to explore on his own. He asked Fukunaga to help him explore some time, maybe this weekend, and Fukunaga couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

The place Fukunaga had picked for their end of midterm party wasn’t much to speak of, but it was cozy, and very familiar to Fukunaga. He’d be a patron of the tiny little restaurant since he was in middle school, and came so frequently that the little old granny of a waitress could send off his drink order before she even came to his table. He rarely brought a friend with him, though Tora and Kenma, and occasionally some of the others, had shared an afternoon with him when they really needed to get away.

Ennoshita didn’t seem to mind the drab interior or the strange orange light given off by the fixtures that were probably twice as old as them. He actually looked quite at home in the back corner of the restaurant, where the host always knew to seat him. Fukunaga was glad that there weren’t that many other patrons here at this hour. It was after the lunch rush, but well before dinner time, so the only other pair in the dining room were a couple of little old men, who seemed to take the phrase ‘early bird special’ a bit too seriously.

The waitress stopped over quickly to take Ennoshita’s drink order, before leaving them in quiet to study the menu. Well, left Ennoshita to study the menu. It hadn’t changed in all the years that Fukunaga had been here, and he already knew what he would order. So instead, Fukunaga watched Ennoshita quietly, studying the planes of his face and the way the skin between his eyebrows scrunched up when he was deep in thought. Fukunaga realized, that during all of their time studying together, and before that, when they had their quiet moments in training camp, they had always been sitting side by side, never face to face across a table like this. The only time they had been across from each other, rather than by each other’s sides, was when they were on the volleyball court, and that was much to distant to really look closely at his face.

The waitress returned and took their orders, and it was not too long before the silence invaded their conversation once again.

Fukunaga stared down into his mug, fingers fiddling with the handle as he tried to find a way to break the silence. It was so out of character for him, but this awkward feeling of words left unsaid had pervaded their reunion since day one. That feeling that Ennoshita was waiting for him to say something, or that he was expecting Ennoshita to say something himself.

Fukunaga knew what he wanted to say. But the feeling of not knowing if it was the right time, or the right place, or the right anything ate away at him. Would it _ever_ be the right time? Probably not, but Fukunaga wanted to hold on to him for a bit longer, before he got weird about it. Solidify their friendship, get closer to him, something like that, before he spit his feelings out on the table so that Ennoshita could do with them what he will.

But, Fukunaga knew that waiting would drive him crazy. Especially with how friendly and kind Ennoshita already was with him. If he was misinterpreting Ennoshita’s gestures at all, he would like to know now, so that he could possibly put those feelings to rest before his pining got too out of hand.

“You know, they say that there is a lull in conversation every seven minutes.” Ennoshita’s voice pulled Fukunaga out of his inner monologue. When he looked up, Ennoshita was observing him with the same intensity that Fukunaga had with his drink. “I think we have it backwards though. Seven-minute lull, for every bit of conversation.”

Fukunaga clenched his teeth, feeling his ears turn red as he crumbled under Ennoshita’s gaze. “Sorry…”

“It’s alright, I didn’t mean it in a bad way!” Ennoshita reached over the table, comforting him with a pat on his arm.  “It’s so easy to be around you. I don’t have to put so much thought into it. Like what I’m going to say, when to say it. I like it. Spending time with you that is.”

Fukunaga opened his mouth, preparing to return the sentiment in kind, as their waitress returned, this time with their food. They offered their thanks as she walked away, before catching each other’s eyes. Ennoshita was looking at him expectantly, as if he was waiting for something he wanted to hear. Fukunaga tried to ignore the slight look of disappoint in his eyes when instead, he picked up a bite of food and shoved it in his mouth.

That was his opportunity.

Ennoshita had fed it to him like a line, and he didn’t take it.

But he would. Because he couldn’t let the question weigh down the air anymore. Not when their silence was once so light and comfortable.

“I like you?” It came out as a question. Fukunaga didn’t know why it came out as a question. He meant for it to be strong, confident, decisive.  He didn’t mean to sound so unsure of himself, but second chances came when they were needed.

“What was that?”

“I…like. You.”

Silence returned, and Fukunaga covered his face with his hands. He didn’t look to see Ennoshita’s reaction, though he expected his mouth to be hanging open in confusion because come on. Who confesses less than a week after reconnecting? Fukunaga, apparently. He hated feeling so timid. So out of control. Like he was floating, his feet barely touching the ground. Weightless, as his long-kept feelings for Ennoshita continued to burn.

Fukunaga felt a hand brush against his own, pulling it away from his face and holding it gently on the table. Fukunaga followed the gesture, looking down his arm, to their entwined fingers, and eventually up to Ennoshita’s face, where he was met with a gentle gaze, and a shy smile.

“Since high school,” Fukunaga continued. He was happy Ennoshita wasn’t questioning him. The lingering silence encouraged him more than a bout of questions ever would. “Could never tell you. Even though we spent all that time alone…”

“It’s okay…I couldn’t tell you either.” Ennoshita sighed as he relaxed his shoulders, an invisible weight seeming to disappear with his words. “Not the smartest move on my part to leave it up to the guy that never talked to me. I always saw you talking to your teammates and the other guys…but when it came to me…well. I just thought you weren’t interested.”

Fukunaga took in a deep breath as he absorbed Ennoshita’s words. He was cautious to let himself believe what he was hearing.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… I liked you too. Back then. Well, that’s not right…” Ennoshita sighed in frustration as he ran his free hand through his hair, his words clearly not coming as easily to him as he had hoped. “I still like you. I just never thought I’d have the chance to say it. I’ve never…you know…before.”

Fukunaga clasped Ennoshita’s hand between both of his own, giving his fingers a squeeze in signal that he had understood, even if he didn’t really.  With more time, maybe he might, but if he never did, that’d be okay too. Right now, the only thing that mattered was that Ennoshita felt the same way that he did, and they had both been too dense to act on it until now.

“I feel better now.”

Fukunaga nodded in agreement, the nerves of not knowing receding as quickly as they had came.

“Well, I suppose we have to celebrate for real now.” Ennoshita lifted his glass in a toast, waiting just a second for Fukunaga to withdraw one of his hands and grab his mug. “To the end of midterms, and to…”

Ennoshita’s voice drawled off, as if he didn’t know how to finish his sentence, and Fukunaga picked it up, with a clink of their glasses.

“To this.”

Ennoshita nodded in agreement, and they drank to whatever ‘ _this_ ’ was. They didn’t have a name for themselves yet, and that was alright. _This_ would still be around, until they made a decision.

Ennoshita laughed to himself as he released Fukunaga’s hand with some reluctance so that they could both continue their meal.

“That was weird.”

Fukunaga shrugged, already having a mouthful of food. “We’re weird.”

“My dear friend, I think that’s the truest thing you’ve ever said.”

Shaking his head, Fukunaga denied the claim. He could think of one truer. “I like you.”

With a flush and a soft smile, Ennoshita returned the sentiment once again. “I like you, too.”

Silence returned to their celebration, in the most unobtrusive way. They finished their meal, with some conversation, and upon deciding where they should go next, they resumed their cozy silence.

It wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t laced with unspoken words (unless it was meant to be, like the little sideways glances Ennoshita kept shooting him, requesting, asking for something Fukunaga wished for as well).

It was comfortable, as was the weight of their elbows hooked around each other, keeping each other close on the empty sidewalk. It was shy, like the tentative little gestures that they shared between them, asking if something was safe in this unexplored territory.

It was them, in the simplest sense of the word. No pressure. No demands. Just the simple expectation that they be themselves, and be exactly what each other needs.

Ennoshita had always been what Fukunaga needed, even before he knew it. The patience, the gentle, loving looks that spoke louder than words ever could. He was everything. Everything that he could’ve hope for, everything he asked for.

Like the pervasive nature of silence, their budding relationship was something that just felt right to Fukunaga.

Their relationship is something to be explored, a place to find comfort and return home. And as the walk along, hand in hand with smiles on their faces and in their hearts, Fukunaga couldn’t help but be grateful. For Ennoshita. For everyone who has pushed him, and helped him grow. Without them, he may never have reached this point. He may not be _here_ , with the person he had dreamed about for so long.

He never would have been here with the person he loved, had he not found his voice.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back~
> 
> It's been two years and one day since I last posted a HQ fic, and even longer than that since my last Enno/Fuku fic. I needed to get back in to the swing of things, and I think I did a smashing job. It was honestly such a JOY to be able to write Fukunaga again, and even more so to write about him loving Ennoshita again. Hopefully, I can add HQ back into my fic rotation, and be able to put out more works like this that I can really be proud of.
> 
> Also : how bout them cats?! The recent Nekoma in chapters definitely influenced my need for Fuku.
> 
> My tumblr url is now ebumimasaru, and my writing blog is still dreyars. Come talk to me!


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